


120 Nights of Sodom

by perdiccas



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: First Time, M/M, Porn, Romance, Safer Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-09
Updated: 2009-08-09
Packaged: 2017-10-02 11:38:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perdiccas/pseuds/perdiccas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><strike>Sex Ed with Sylar!</strike> Luke has an 'educational' time when he loses his virginity to Sylar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	120 Nights of Sodom

**Author's Note:**

> Luke is 17.

"There," Luke grumbles as he walks from the bathroom in a cloud of steam, skin glistening with water he hasn't quite dried away. The only towel is in his hand as he dries his hair, and between his legs, his erection bobs heavily with his every step. "Showered. Can we fuck now?"

"_Please?_" he adds, a little hopeful, a lot pleading, the unabashed desire in his voice going straight to Sylar's dick. Luke drops the towel beside the bed and launches himself onto the mattress, sprawling out over him.

Luke's kisses are clumsy, sloppy with lust and inexperience. Sylar cups his neck; his fingers slide through the wet hair at the nape of his neck, hold him steady and guide him. He teases Luke's mouth open wider, nips at Luke's tongue until Luke draws it back, a moan of pain muffled into Sylar's lips. Then, Sylar's tongue is in Luke's mouth, thrusting in and out, _fucking_ in time to the throb of his cock. And, in his arms, Luke's a groaning, fumbling mess, bitten-down nails scraping over Sylar's chest, fingertips latching to his nipples, his chest hair and down, to tease at his navel, to clutch at his hips. He's panting into Sylar's kiss, grunting now, keening and rutting his dick on Sylar's abdomen, a sticky smear of pre-come leaving Sylar's skin obscenely hot where he's been.

He gives that quiet, needy moan that Sylar's heard so many times before as in the dark, Luke jerked his cock with a furious fist, thinking Sylar asleep. But Sylar's been awake enough, always awake to hear, to know the gasp that follows that moan and the sigh that follows that gasp, and the soiled sheets that follow it all, so he breaks away from Luke's mouth and flips him around easily. Luke's arms and legs flail uselessly in the air, a confused wail spilling from his lips as Sylar's arms wrap back tight around him, settle his ass between his legs, Luke's back fast to Sylar's chest as they both sit propped against the headboard.

Luke's breathing is ragged, his pants getting wilder as he tries to twist in Sylar's embrace, Sylar keeping him locked in place. He tilts his chin, looks pleadingly back at Sylar and Sylar quells his questions with a tender kiss.

"So… what? What is this?" Luke babbles as they break apart. "Reverse cowboy? I mean, yeah. Yeah, okay, that's cool. Kinky, but yeah, I'm okay with that."

Sylar nuzzles into the damp hair at Luke's temple, hides his grin as he watches Luke's expression go from confused to nervous to eager. Then, he frowns, and Sylar doesn't like the way it creases his brow, pulls those full lips taut, he nibbles at the shell of Luke's ear, feeling somehow lighter inside when Luke squeals a ticklish giggle and tries to wriggle away.

And, as he squirms, his ass grinds back into Sylar's crotch, rides maddeningly against his clothed erection, and then Luke's laughs turn to breathy moans, echoed by Sylar's in his ears.

Sylar rotates his hips, rubs his tenting fly against the firm swell of Luke's ass and Luke stills, the frown back. "Shouldn't you take your jeans off?"

"Soon," Sylar promises. He clenches his fist, digs his nails into his palms and exhales a shuddering, calming breath. Silently, he recites the deal he's made with himself, the one that he tells himself makes fucking a desperate kid like Luke okay: no hurting, no forcing, no rushing. No breaking, no matter how much he might want to; no scars added to the too many that already criss-cross Luke's tender skin. No promising things to get his own way, no dumping the kid with a still-raw ass. No treating Luke like the rest of the world treats him, because for some reason, Luke thinks Sylar's better than that and somehow, Sylar wants it to be true.

"I showered and everything," Luke whimpers, in a small heartbroken voice, like he thinks maybe Sylar doesn't want him after all. And when Sylar hugs him tighter, peppering reassuring kisses in his hair, Luke lets his head loll back on Sylar's shoulder, flashes him a timid, upside down smile. "Seriously though, what's up with that? I'm, like, throwing myself at you and you go all OCD on my ass?"

"On your ass exactly," Sylar purrs, wedging a hand between their bodies to squeeze at the meat of Luke's left ass cheek. With a sickly sweet smile he adds, "It's not too OCD to not want shit on my dick, is it?"

"Ew. Okay, gross." Luke's nose crinkles in disgust but he laughs at Sylar's bluntness. And then, he's frowning a little again, shifting uncomfortably between his thighs. "But, I mean… you wouldn't, right? I mean… Ew."

He draws his knees to his chest, looks back at Sylar a little apprehensively. "Because, yeah. I don't think I'm into that."

"Me neither," Sylar says with a laugh. He smoothes Luke's hair back, a firm touch massaging his scalp along the way to set him at ease. Almost under his breath, he murmurs, "You've really never done this before, have you, little boy?"

"No," Luke agrees, eyes closed, arms and legs unfurled again and sprawled boneless as Sylar kneads the tension from his temples. "And I'm not a little boy."

"No," Sylar breathes, reaches down and holds Luke's erection reverently, closing his fist loosely and jacking him slowly. "No, you're not, are you?"

"_Please_."

Luke's back arches beautifully, the glossy head of his cock sliding through Sylar's fingers. Sylar pulls his hand away, ignores Luke's blind whimper of disappointment and calls the lube bottle towards them with his mind.

It lands with a soft slap on Luke's belly. Luke opens his eyes in confusion, his breath catching in his throat as Sylar picks it up, squeezes the lube onto his fingers.

"There's no such thing as too much lube," he says.

"Um, okay?"

"So always get the big bottles. Don't be cheap; get the silicon stuff." He shows the label to Luke before putting the bottle aside. "Oil based rots condoms and water based dries too quickly."

"Heat it in your hand," he says, cupping his palm. "Don't use your ability, unless you want third degree burns on your dick."

Luke's lips part in questioning, "Uh?" and then, his eyes roll back and he groans as Sylar spreads the hand-warmed lube along his length.

"Feels good, doesn't it?" he rasps. "So slick; better than spit."

"Yeah," Luke groans. "_Fuck_ yeah."

And that makes Sylar smirk.

He closes his fist a little tighter, presses his thumb to the thick, centre vein and drags up it from Luke's base to tip.

"Shaft," he explains. Then he notches his thumb to that spot below the head, rubs persistent little circles that make Luke hiss in pleasure that seems to verge on pain. "Frenulum."

And now it's Sylar that's breathing, "_Yeah_," in Luke's ear, because Luke's writhing like a wild thing, hands flung back to grasp at Sylar's thighs, panting and pleading for more.

Sylar presses up a little harder, slides his thumb up so that it drags over Luke's slit, spreads his wetness over the flushed head of his erection. "Feels ever better with your tongue right here."

"Glans," he adds.

"And right along here." He circles his thumb under the ridge of Luke's cock; Luke cries out, sucking in stuttering breaths. "Mmm, just like that. Corona."

Sylar's own dick is aching with Luke's unfiltered reactions, almost painfully hard inside his jeans, and he trails his fingers back down Luke's shaft, easing back down to a touch less intense as much to give himself a chance to catch his breath as it is for Luke.

"Spread your legs," he orders hoarsely. Luke obeys without hesitation, moaning happily as he hitches his thighs to the outside of Sylar's and Sylar bends his knees, his own legs spread wide to push Luke's even further apart.

He bites his lip, bites back a curse, stares down at Luke dishevelled and wanton, cock slick and pink and _gorgeous_. And he looks up, and sees it all reflected back, a second, mirror Luke, where he can see everything he misses in their awkward position: the tightness of his nipples, the rise and fall of his chest, the fine pubic hair that dusts his groin and the way his toes are curled fiercely beside Sylar's left ankle, splayed out in pleasure next to his right.

"Open your eyes, Luke," he breathes, right up in Luke's ear, burying his face in Luke's neck, a biting kiss his excuse to close his own eyes to Luke's reaction, lest it push him too far, too soon.

"_Oh!_" Luke wails, hips thrusting of their own accord into the air. "Oh, dude. That's… _fuck_ that's hot."

Sylar inhales Luke's scent, sweat and musk tinged with the sweetness of the bubblegum he likes to chew, lets his nostrils flare and snuffles behind his ear, until he can look at his own face in the standing mirror, eyes black with lust. "So hot," he growls.

He cups Luke's balls in a slick palm, rolls them, presses them up against his body and just as Luke's eyes flutter shut, Sylar rubs at the delicate skin of his sac and breathes, "Scrotum."

Luke laughs a throaty, crazy, full bodied laugh, a laugh that turns to a sigh and a moan in the end. Sylar's hand stills; there's a sudden sinking in his gut and for a moment, he wavers between pushing Luke away and pulling him over his knee to spank that mocking laughter from him.

But, Luke's smiling up at him with fuck-dazed, oblivious eyes. He laughs again at Sylar's frown and, through his giggles, haltingly explains, "Dude. You sound like Mr Watson, my health teacher. Just say 'balls'."

And despite himself, Sylar feels a rush of something like happiness swirling in to fill that space inside him that felt so empty just moments before, and he's grinning back as he concedes, "Testicles."

"Fine." Luke rolls his eyes good naturedly, and then loops his fingers around Sylar's wrist, holding him as he holds Luke between his legs.

"What's with the anatomy lesson?" he asks shyly.

For a quiet moment, Sylar traces his fingers lightly over every part of Luke he'd named, finger trails of Luke's pre-come mingling with the lube. Then, he presses his lips to Luke's ear and murmurs, "Because the human body is more complex and delicate than a watch. Because every part of you needs a different touch…" He feathers his fingers deftly over Luke's tip; twists his fist roughly around his shaft. "…a different stroke."

He cradles Luke's sac in his palm once more, doesn't say, "Because if I can make you feel so good you can do nothing but beg for more, then it won't feel so much liking I'm taking something that isn't mine to take."

He tugs at Luke's balls, gingerly at first, judging his reaction, and when his mouth tips open in wordless plea, he pulls down more firmly. "I bet you didn't learn this in health class."

"No," Luke pants, eyes still closed, chest still heaving, mouth still stinging smart. "All theory, no practical."

"Well, thank god for that." Sylar laughs.

"You're telling me? Mr Watson's, like, three hundred pounds with a handlebar moustache."

There's a shiver of a lie down Sylar's spine, exasperated he warns, "Luke…"

"He's bald and hunched over. Probably five hundred years old. I dunno why he teaches Sex Ed. I bet he hasn't had a boner since World War Two."

That shudder again, and Sylar yanks Luke's balls a little harder still, enough, now, to hurt as well as pleasure. "Luke!"

"Fine," Luke grunts in desperation. "Mr Watson taught gym as well and he was kind of hot, but you're, like, so way hotter."

Sylar lets his hand relax, massages Luke's sac gently, easing the ache of the stretch in his delicate skin. With a wry quirk of his lips, he says, "Thanks."

Luke shrugs his shoulders, cheeks flushed and his eyes hone in on the reflection of Sylar's hand working between his legs, dipping lower and pressing up behind his balls.

And with one firm caress, Luke's body goes rigid against Sylar's chest; with lightening quick reflexes, Sylar cinches his fingers around Luke's base and stops his orgasm before it's too late.

Sylar throws back his head and groans, Luke's needy wails seeming to shoot through him, straight to his dick. To ground himself he holds Luke in a vice-like grip and explains, "Perineum. It's like a part of your cock you didn't know you had."

"Yeah," Luke whimpers. "Feels so good."

"Yeah," Sylar agrees, his voice so frantic with want, he scarcely recognises it as his own. "Never forget it's there; when we're fucking, or sucking, or kissing, just reach down and…"

"_Yeah_."

Sylar opens his eyes to see Luke staring ravenously at him in their reflection. And for all his self-righteous promises of slow and tender, he doesn't know how much more teasing either he or Luke can take, so, he circles his fingers around Luke's asshole, whispers roughly, "Look," as he spreads his legs wider and Luke's legs with them, giving Luke an uninhibited view of his own puckered flesh.

"Anus."

"Ew," Luke groans. "Asshole. Anus sounds… anus is gross."

"And asshole is better?" Sylar lifts an amused eyebrow at him, fingers still caressing lube around Luke's hole.

"Yes," Luke says, struggles a little with what he wants to say, then huffs, "It's… it's just better."

"Asshole, then," Sylar allows. He sinks one finger carefully inside Luke's body, the hand around his cock moving to rub soothing circles to Luke's belly.

"Relax," he breathes. They both watch in breathless silence as Sylar stretches him open, one finger followed by two and then, eventually three, Luke's skin flushing pink as it's coaxed wider.

"Beautiful," Sylar hisses, three fingers in deep to the knuckle, his other hand raking through Luke's pubes and down his inner thighs. He twists his fingers and fitfully whispers, "Prostate."

Luke comes in a sudden hard spurt, his orgasm ripping through him as he yells. And when he's done, Sylar works his fingers loose, shushes the mumbled "Sorry" that keeps spilling from Luke's lips and hugs him tight, so fiercely tight, until the trembling in his body stops.

"Fuck, that was…" Luke slurs with a dopey grin.

"Mmm," Sylar hums, burying his face in Luke's hair to push aside the ache of too tight, too hard flesh. But Luke's more perceptive than Sylar gives him credit for because he presses experimentally back on Sylar's crotch, grins like he's won the lottery when he hears the sigh Sylar hisses between gritted teeth.

Luke twists back a little, and though his eyes are heavy lidded with his afterglow, they're also bright, determined, _hungry_. "Tell me what to do."

"Take off my jeans."

Luke wriggles breathlessly to the foot of the bed, his ass bobbing teasingly as he goes; the skin around his asshole is flushed pink and glistening with lube. Face on, it's better than it ever was reflected back in the mirror; Sylar inhales a laboured breath, groans at his own arousal and when he opens his eyes again, Luke's looking at him, over his shoulder, wide-eyed and panting, too. Sylar grins reassuringly, palms himself while Luke watches, and then, Luke's scurrying off the bed to the pat of Sylar's hand on his ass.

Luke's distracted by the mirror; Sylar watches as his brow knits in concentration and his gaze flits over his own body, inquisitive fingertips tracing over his nipples and into his groin, fondling his spent dick and heavy balls. He cocks his head to the side, catches Sylar looking and meets his eyes in the reflection of the glass. Sylar holds his gaze and lifts his hips from the bed, arching up to remind Luke of his orders.

He spins around, his knees pressing into the mattress as he leans back over to drop a tender, apologetic kiss to Sylar's naval before he hooks his hands around the backs of Sylar's knees and hauls him roughly to the edge of the bed. Sylar's legs bracket his hips, feet and calves suspended in the air as he leaves Sylar just too far from the lip of the bed to be able to bend his legs. He attacks Sylar's fly with shaking hands, still weak from his orgasm, the aftermath still painted in opalescent white on his belly.

With one curious hand, Luke rubs at the outline of Sylar's trapped dick, with other, he drags down his zipper in a jerky, staccato movement, trying to tease but _wanting_ so badly he rushes. As Sylar watches with rapt attention, Luke gulps down a breath, Sylar's fly gaping wide, the bulge in his shorts exposed to his inspection. Luke leans down, close enough that Sylar can feel the heat of his breath along his length, each exhalation teasing at the wet spot where the head is trapped and leaking. And, just when Sylar thinks that Luke is going to mouth his dick, right then and there, he pulls back with a blush and instead, works his jeans down his legs.

Jeans tossed aside, Luke's fingers curl in the waistband of his boxer-briefs, he tugs them out a little, gasping prettily and without affectation, as the tip of Sylar's dick bobs into view. He looks at Sylar for direction, body trembling with an unreleased desire to _touch_ and Sylar rolls his hips, nods, "Those too," sighing as Luke carefully peels aside his shorts.

And now, when Luke looks at him, unsure, Sylar merely spreads his legs, propping himself up on his elbows and waits. After a moment's wavering hesitation, Luke crawls up onto the bed and ducks his head to nuzzle against Sylar's groin.

"So big," he murmurs against Sylar's hip. "So fucking hard."

His voice drips with awe, with want, a hint of apprehension laced in between and, _fuck_, if that doesn't make Sylar harder. His cock slaps noisily on his belly when it jumps; Luke's spine goes rigid in surprise and then, he's laughing breathlessly, reaching out to curl his hand around it.

"Shaft," he says as he jacks his hand loosely up and down, examining the ridges and veins of Sylar's skin more than really stroking. He squeezes gently; tries different pressures. Sylar huffs a heavy breath through his nose and hums his approval.

Luke darts forward, a flash of a mischievous grin all that Sylar glimpses before there's a hot, wet, _firm_ tongue dragging over that hollow just below the tip of his dick.

"Frenulum," Luke says with a giggle.

"Yeah," Sylar groans, groaning louder still when Luke licks again, in a spiral now, then drags his teeth carefully over that spot. He replaces his mouth with the pad of his thumb, brushing teasing circles as he swipes his tongue under the crown of Sylar's cock.

"Corona," he mumbles, and then, "Glans," as he spreads Sylar's pre-come with the wide flat of his tongue.

"Hm." Luke frowns at the taste, drawing back to hold Sylar's dick a contemplative arm's length away. Sylar's thighs quake from the effort of holding still and he lets himself drop back to the sheets, pressing the heel of his palm to his eyes to ground himself as his toes curl and his dick is smothered with butterfly kisses that seem to grow in confidence.

Luke slides the wetness that's dribbling down to his thumb, up and over Sylar's tip with one long sweep and when he breathes, "Scrotum" in a mock-serious voice, and cups Sylar's sac, Sylar laughs and gasps all at once, bucking a little into Luke's tightening fist.

He looks down his body, grins at Luke to see Luke grinning up at him, pouty lips sucking at his delicate skin.

"Balls," Sylar reminds him.

"Testicles," Luke counters, pointing the tip of his tongue and circling around the shape of each, sucking them one by one, a little inexpertly, into his mouth. There's a confused chuff of breath against Sylar's skin and then he feels Luke trying to suck, mostly dribbling messily all over his lap. He pulls off with a wet pop, and cracks his jaw. Wryly, he says, "Yeah, okay. That's not as easy as it looks in pornos."

"Better than a porno," Sylar mumbles, tracing his fingers over Luke's suddenly flushed cheeks, teasing his fingers through his hair.

Then, with a impish smile, Luke's pressing up firmly behind Sylar's balls.

"Perineum," he says proudly, letting Sylar's thrusts against him set the pace of his touch. He bends down lower, his chest flat to the bed, arm snaking down between his own legs, almost unconsciously, to tug at his rehardening dick as he peers curiously into the crack of Sylar's ass.

"Asshole," he says decisively before breaking down into a snorting laugh. "I mean… you know what I mean. Asshole," he repeats, tilting his head towards Sylar's body as he touches Sylar there tentatively.

"I bet I could totally find your prostate…" He presses in a little with a dry finger, licking his lips as he watches the tense and relax of Sylar's hole around his fingertip. Sylar rolls his hips back, ignoring Luke's plaintive whimper.

"You forget the lesson about lube?"

"No? Okay. Pass the lube," Luke crawls forward on his hands and knees, following as Sylar shuffles up the bed.

"How about I pass you this instead?" Sylar tosses him a condom, watches as Luke's face lights up.

"You're putting that on me, not you," he warns. "I'm sure health class taught you what to do."

"You're not a banana," Luke mutters, then he grins a _dirty_ grin and weighs Sylar's dick on his palm, measuring its girth with a curl of his fingers. "I mean…"

"Luke!"

But Luke only sniggers, tearing the silver wrapper carefully, the condom slipping from his trembling fingers to fall, with a wet slap, to Sylar's thigh.

"Sorry," Luke mumbles, holding Sylar's dick steady with one hand and positioning the condom at his tip with the other. He rolls it down all the way and sits back on his haunches to admire his handiwork.

"I guess the public school system is good for something after all," Sylar says, a roundabout compliment that has Luke smiling proudly when he gets it.

"Hands and knees," Sylar whispers, eager hands already slicking his own dick.

"But I wanna see you," Luke whines. He lurches forward, his hands grasping at Sylar's shoulders, pouting mouth pressed to Sylar's as he pleads.

"You will," Sylar promises, flipping him around, firmly but lovingly, so that he faces the mirror.

"_Oh!_"

"Mmm hmm," Sylar purrs, pushing more lube in Luke's still open hole, two fingers scissoring in last minute preparation.

"Ready?" he breathes, the head of his dick already nudging against Luke's entrance.

In some distant part of his mind, he's begging Luke to say yes, to one final time confirm that this is okay. But Luke doesn't speak, and in the mirror, Sylar can see his eyes scrunched shut and his knuckles white as he grips the edge of the bed with desperate fists. And Sylar remembers his rules, his promises not to hurt and stills his hips that want to thrust so badly.

"Luke," he calls softly. "Luke, watch me."

He kisses the notches of Luke's spine, one hand on his hip holding him steady, the other wrapped around him to work the cramps from his stomach as Sylar eases himself in. He thrusts in slowly, carefully, ignoring his own desire to pound home at once, and the conflicting urge to pull out completely as he watches Luke wince, hears him moan in pain.

"Easy now," he breathes into the skin of Luke's shoulder. "Almost…"

And then he sighs, balls deep in Luke's body, his ass clenching near too-tight around Sylar's dick.

"Relax," he whimpers, close to pleading. He laces his fingers with Luke's at the edge of the bed, nips at his neck until Luke looks up and when their eyes lock once more in the mirror, he rasps in his ear, "So pretty stretched around me."

And Luke groans a throaty, wanting sound, shifts his stance wider, his muscles slowly loosening under Sylar's deft caresses.

"Luke," Sylar pants, saying his name again and again, in time to his thrusts, long, whining pleas to start, turning to a panted rush of, "_LukeLukeLuke_," as he snaps his hips and slams in with a quick, staccato beat. His every cry of "Luke" a plea for absolution, a desperate wail for forgiveness for taking what he shouldn't.

And all the while, Luke holds his gaze, their eyes never leaving each other, until Sylar wraps a hand around Luke's leaking cock, jacks him tightly until he comes, semen splattering over the mirror, obscuring the glass with a milky white. But by then, Sylar's too far gone too, curls his hips under, thrusts up, deep and hard, comes with a roar he smothers in the nape of Luke's neck.

"Luke," he gasps as they pull apart, "Luke," again, as Luke settles sleepily, sated, against his chest.

Luke presses his palm flat to Sylar's chest, fingers splayed over his heart and as he falls asleep, he murmurs, "_Sylar_," like a gift, lips pressed to Sylar's skin.


End file.
